


Smile

by clownprincess



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 11:57:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7756978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clownprincess/pseuds/clownprincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is story that was inspired by my lust for Gerard Way from My Chemical Romance. The inspiration is simply what the character looks like, and his wealth and fame.<br/>Kinda embarrassed to post this, since it seems really bad now that I have a BA in writing... but... it meant so much to me once, so I'll subject others to its horrors, I suppose. Try not to judge baby Clown Princess too harshly.<br/>Smut turned psychotic.<br/>This is in now way a representation of him as a real person. It is a sick, twisted fantasy of a much younger me. Proceed with caution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Where the hell is he?” the owner of the bookstore said. “He was supposed to be here a half hour ago for the book signing! What am I going to tell all these people?” He yelled into his phone. He was talking with the missing author’s manager, no doubt.

The absent author’s name was Arthur Nyx. He was a very successful writer in the erotica genre. He had been called “the Stephen King of erotic stories”. I know what idea one might get upon seeing the word ‘erotica’ in terms of the writer; that he is a pervert, disgusting, pig, etc. No, Arthur Nyx was very intelligent and somewhat shy when he meets new people or is in front of a large crowd.

He was 36 years old and had been successful for the past few years. He had shoulder length raven hair and hazel eyes. He was pleasantly plump, by no means fat, just some extra padding. He was about five feet eight inches tall.

He was a very talented writer and artist. His stories captivate and amaze as well as excite. Unlike some erotica, he actually put plot and story into it. Not just the old in-out, in-out; although he did that part masterfully as well.

Where exactly _was_ Art Nyx? He was with me. In his brand new Ferrari. In the _back_ of his brand new Ferrari, to be exact. I had run into him when he had first pulled up in the rear parking lot of the bookstore. I was walking in to wait for him. He’s a friend of mine. It was supposed to be a surprise.

Who am I? I am Anne Medwin. I have blonde hair, blue eyes and a perfect figure. I’m tiny; barely five tall. I’m 25 years old and met Art at an art exhibit. He was showing some of his work, and we really hit it off fast. He asked me out to coffee, we’ve hung out a few times, but nothing serious. I count it as just playful flirting together, maybe with something more.

I’m a writer myself, but I dab more in the horror and gore genre. I am completely in love with the Dark Side, you could say.

Well, we were never very good at resisting flirting very openly with each other, no matter how horrible the timing or the place. He was very taken with my trousers that I was wearing. They were his favorite ones to see on me. They were tight, gray and white pin-striped trousers that compliment me extremely well. Also, I’m drop dead gorgeous.

What was at first just supposed to be a simple kiss of hello turned into a little bit more when Art refused to pull away. And I can’t say that I fought him, either. His hands caressed me everywhere, and I thought to myself, _the hell with it!_ I just gave in and we started making out against his car in the bookstore parking lot, in the middle of the day in a busy city.

Art reached behind me and opened the back door of his Ferrari.

He nudged me in and growled, “Get in there."

He followed and closed the door behind him. He has that cool “mirror tint” where you can’t see in, but only out, no matter how hard you try. So we were in complete privacy making out in his $400,000 custom, forest green Ferrari.

He was on top of me on the black leather backseat. We were making out very heavily. So much for the book signing.

Suddenly I shot up, hitting him the chin in the process.

“Ah!” He yelled and put a hand to his mouth, hissing though his teeth in pain, “I bit my tongue!”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” I said and caressed his face. “But-”

“Oh I’ll forgive you. You just have to do something for me…something to make me feel all better.” He said in a dark voice.

He grabbed my face and kissed me. I could taste blood in it from his tongue. He started to lean back and went to undo my pants. I felt a shock wave of approval from my body, but my mind was nagging.

I pulled away and said, “But Art, what about the book signing?”

He seemed to think about it for only a few moments and said, “I have more exciting things going on presently.” And put all of his weight on me so I fell back in the seat. He can get pretty pushy.

“Wait,” I said and leaned forward to try to see the clock in the car. It was custom designed so that it was on all the time. Art laughed and pushed on me so I fell back. He closed in on me so that I couldn’t get up again. He had that damn smirk on his face. That smile that means _I’m going to get it. It’s cute how you’re fighting._

“Fine,” I said seductively. It was probably too late for the signing anyway. “But can’t we go to your house?”

“It’s alright here; nobody can see though my windows.” He said.

“I know. But don’t you think that it’d be more fun at your place?” I said in my cutest voice, “We could have as much room as we want,” I bit his neck, “To do whatever we want.”

“Good idea.” He whispered and kissed me.

He climbed over to the front seat and started the car. It was such a nice car, so silent and solid. You couldn’t even tell the engine was on, it was so smooth. I climbed into the passenger’s seat. He then gunned it out of the parking lot and towards his house.

When we got to his house, he got out of the car. I went to open my door, but it was locked. I leaned over to the driver’s side to press the ‘unlock’ button because he had it custom made where you could only lock and unlock from the driver’s controls. As I was about to press the button, Art grabbed my wrist. I laughed and said, “Art-”.

He squeezed my wrist hard, and it hurt a little. I pulled back and he let go. I frowned and rubbed my wrist and watched him come around to my side. It was creepy that he had this serious look on his face. It was as if I had breached his security boundaries or something. His demeanor frightened me a little.

He reached my side and unlocked it with his key and yanked me out. I slammed against his chest. I laughed uneasily. He picked me up.

He walked in his house and ran up the stairs. I swore he was going to fall and drop me, so I held my breath and clenched my eyes shut the whole time and was gripping onto his shirt so much that my nails dug into his chest. He reached the landing and then opened the door to his room and then slammed it shut. I opened my eyes and released my death grip on his chest. He tossed me on his bed.

“Aaah…” he groaned and held where my fingernails were removed from his flesh.

It was not a sound of pain entirely. This idea was confirmed by the huge bulge in his pants. He unbuttoned his shirt slowly and walked towards me. He had this sexy look in his eyes.

“You want it, ‘uh?” He said seductively.

I lied back on his bed with my knees up, propped up by my elbows.

“No.” I smiled as I said this.

“No?”

“No.” I smiled widely.

“Really…” It more of a statement than a question.

I just smiled up at him devilishly. He pushed off his shirt and got on top of me. He caressed my face and kissed and bit my neck, causing me to gasp. He kissed me passionately and pulled my shirt off with one hand. He wriggled out of his already unzipped pants and tugged at mine. I pushed them down and kicked them away. Soon everything else followed them on the floor. We were really getting into it and heavy making out.

Then he leaned up and said breathily, “Say you don’t want it.”

I ignored him and leaned up to get another addicting kiss, and he backed away and repeated himself, “Say you don’t want it.”

“No.” I said playfully and tried to kiss him again.

He backed up and said, “Because you do want me.”

He sucked on and bit my neck. I gasped and pulled him close to my face. I kissed him but he didn’t kiss me back. I stopped and looked at him.

“Say you want it, Annie.” He said seductively.

“Never,” I whispered playfully.

“Say it.”

“Art-.”  
“Not until you say it.”

I leaned up next to his ear and whispered, “I want you.”

He smiled victoriously and kissed me hard.

 

Later, Art leaned up and lit a cigarette.

“Gross.” I said and turned away from him.

He laughed.

“What?” I asked and turned my head to look at him.

“You.”

“What about me?”

“I got you around my finger. You do as I please.” He said with a satisfied smirk.

“Oh really?” I said and turned around and faced him.

“Oh yeah.” He laughed shortly.

“How so?”

“How _not_?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I can get you to do whatever I want.” He sighed and snuffed out his cigarette. He put his hands behind his head and smiled.

“Hmph. Whatever, Art.” I said and lied on my back.

“Yeah. What _ever_ I want.” He said triumphantly.

I rolled my eyes and got up and dressed. He looked at me as I went towards the door.

“Where you goin’?” He said, lighting another cancer.

“Home.”

“How?”

“You. Get your ass up.”

He laughed and said, “Okay, fine.”

He pulled on his pants and shoes, grabbed his keys and headed towards the door.

“You’re going out without a shirt on?” I asked, eyeing his flub.

“Yeah, why not?”

I rolled my eyes and said, “Nothing.”

At this, he threw on a black button up shirt and held my wrist as we walked out to his car.

He drove me to the bookstore where I left my car. I got out of his car and said, “I’ll see you later, I guess.”

“Yeah, _I guess_.” he said mockingly, as if he knew we would meet again soon. Then he drove away.

I could tell where he got the inspiration for his books. His lovemaking was phenomenal. It was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before; like he reinvented passion.

I always thought that Art was very cute. From the second I saw him I just wanted to make love with him. Now that the deed was done, I felt like I knew something I shouldn’t. It was like I invaded the Mysteries of some great Greek god. Not that I think of Art as a god, but I felt intimidated all the same. I was feeling happy that we had done it, yet I felt a twinge of regret in the background that I couldn’t explain. I got into my car and drove home without thinking about a single thing.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The next day was Saturday. I woke up around 8 o’clock in the morning with the phone ringing. I groaned and mumbled, “Fuck it…” and pulled the pillow over my head. Then I heard the person leaving the message. It was Art. My heart stopped and I exhaled, suddenly aware I was holding my breath.   
I got up out of bed and approached the phone as if it would strike me like a cobra if I made any sudden movements. I saw the machine blinking at me with the number, ‘4’. I narrowed my eyes and pressed play.  
“Saturday, seven-o-nine AM,” said the female machine voice, and then came another voice, “Hi Anne. I wanted to call and see if you wanted to do something. Call me back. Bye, darling.” It was Art. Darling? Wow. The messages continued, only about ten minutes apart. Art seemed to get more irritated as the messages went on. The most recent message played.  
“Again, Anne. Pick up the phone! I know you’re awake. Why do you like to torture me? Just pick up, damn it, Anne! Fine. I’m coming over then.”   
My eyes were as wide as saucers. I looked at the clock, it was ten after eight now. I heard a car pull up in my driveway. It was Art’s Ferrari. My heart was beating wildly. What was wrong with him? My doorbell started ringing. And ringing. And ringing, persistently. I just stared at the door. Then I slowly walked up to the door and opened it.  
Art’s eyebrows were pinched together. He pushed me in the house and slammed the door.   
“Why weren’t you answering your phone, Anne?” He demanded, pushing me onto my couch.   
“Art, I…” I started.  
“I don’t want to hear it. You don’t like me, that's it. You want to stop talking to me all together. I knew it.” He was angry and sad at the same time. He pressed his hands firmly against my arms, forcing me back in the couch.   
“Art, I was asleep. It wasn’t until your last call that I even woke up. I’m sorry. I’m a deep sleeper. Art? You’re scaring me.” I said with a shaky voice.   
He looked at me with the same suspicious look, but then alleviated the pressure on my arms and sat next to me on the couch. I was iffy about being around him at the moment, and recoiled a little. Why do I always attract the psychos?   
“Ok,” He laughed a little and seemed to relax like nothing had happened. “So, Anne, do you wane go back to bed, then?” He said with a smile.   
“Um, actually Art, think I feel a bug coming on.” I lied.  
He looked concerned and said, “Is there anything I can do?”   
“Yeah, you could let me go back to sleep,” I said with a smile. I got up and held him by the arm with my other arm around his back, leading him to the door. “Thanks for coming over, Art. I’ll call you when I’m feeling better, ok?” I said as I almost pushed him out of the door.  
“Ok,” He said, looking upset, “I’ll be in touch, Anne.” 

The way he said it sent a chill down my spine. He caressed my face gently and walked out to his car. I gave him a faux smile as he pulled out and left.   
I went back into the house and shut the door, locked and bolted it. I was standing with my back against the door, mind racing. I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor with my arms around my knees and my head down. What had I gotten myself into with Art Nyx? 

It was Monday afternoon. Art had been calling me constantly all weekend. I felt I had a genuine stalker. He was really freaking me out. It made me feel like a prisoner, like he was constantly watching me and it was like I was hopelessly under his power.   
I decided to walk down to the local coffee shop to just relax and read the paper or maybe think up ideas for a new book or story. The coffee shop was called “The Sneety Room”. I picked up my favorite drink: black hazelnut coffee. I went to the corner of the quaint little shop and settled down in a comfy armchair with my coffee and the newspaper. I was totally into the paper, aware of nothing else but the taste and warmth of my coffee, the steady beating of my heart and rhythm of my breathing. I was totally relaxed.   
I was on the verge of falling asleep when suddenly my paper was ripped from my hands. I was shocked up and dropped my coffee cup on the ground, splattering it all over the tile floor. It was Art.   
“Art!” I said angrily. “Why would you do that?”  
“I thought you were sick, Anne. Not too sick for some coffee and hanging out in the Sneety Room?”   
“Jesus, Art. I guess it was a 24 hour thing. I’m not allowed to go anywhere without informing you of my condition?” I spit back.   
He frowned and then it melted away in an odd sort of fake way.   
“Fine, Anne. Great to see you well. It’s always great to see you.” It was really creepy how he said this and especially creepy how he said my name. It was like he mocked me by saying it. It was odd. I felt a lightning bolt of fear in my heart, but it faded as quickly as it came.  
“Ok, Art. I’m going to go home. I have to write. I have a deadline.” I lied again. I don’t like to lie, but Art was acting so weird and almost terrifying, in a way. I wanted nothing to do with him until he remembered himself.   
“Ok. I’ll walk you home.” He said with a too-big smile.   
“Ok.” I said hesitantly; I didn’t want to upset him. Besides, it was only a two block walk back to my house.   
On the walk there, he had his arm around my shoulders, with his other hand gripping my arm tightly. I didn’t say anything at first, not wanting to set him off. He was eerily quiet. I tried to say something, but he just nodded and looked at me with a creepy smile.   
We approached my house.   
“Well, here we are. Thanks for walking me, Art. I’ll see you around.” I said as I unlocked my door and opened it. He just stood there so I said, “Art?”   
“Aren’t you going to ask me if I want to come in?” He said strangely.   
“Um, ok,” I said, “If you want to come in for a few…”   
He pushed me into the house and closed the door and locked the dead bolt.   
“What are you doing, Art?” I asked, hating how my voice quavered with fear.   
He smiled so very perversely. He came up to me and grabbed my arms. I looked into his eyes frantically. “Art?” I said, my voice cracking.   
He let out a short laugh. The laugh of a madman. He pushed me. I fell on the floor near the couch. I looked at him, my eyes wide with fear and disbelief.   
“Art?” I said swallowing away the metallic taste of panic, “What are you doing?”   
He kicked over the coffee table, making me flinch and cry out. He smiled broadly at this. I felt fear all over me, in my stomach, in my heart, in my head. My body and mind were screaming. I felt like my skin was moving without me. He stood over me. I looked up to him like a stuck animal. I was helpless and he and I both knew it.   
His smile was strong as ever as he knelt down to the floor. He looked right in my eyes, enjoying my fear. “Art, please…” I pleaded. He responded by ripping off my button down shirt, popping the buttons off in every direction. I cried out. He savagely tore off my bra, ripping the material. It cut my flesh as the fabric resisted the sudden force. He then savagely ripped off my trousers in a similar fashion, popping off the button, ripping the seams and the zipper. He pulled down my underwear slowly, smiling the whole time, looking directly into my tearing eyes. I tried to kick him but he grabbed my legs and struggled on top of me, pressing me down completely. I could barely breathe, let alone struggle. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his manhood. He looked right into my eyes with the same sick, insane smile as before. He looked into my eyes and smiled as he entered me. I gasped and closed my eyes. I cried silently. I tried to just focus on the warmth of each tear as it fell down my face. I tried to leave this violent reality. An odd memory from years ago entered my frantic mind.  
Birds on trees, focus on the birds. Losing my virginity. Don’t focus on the pain, focus on the birds…   
He was pressing his pelvis into mine, pinning me down. As he was thrusting, his pelvis was rubbing against my clit. He groaned a bit as I became wet around him. I felt the familiar sensations twist in my abdomen. I thought ‘No…’ but it was no use of course. I knew what was coming. I had an orgasm. I let out a little repressed moan. I opened my eyes to see his ever present smile widen and then shrink into a proud smirk.  
Afterwards, he got up, zipped up his pants and turned to leave. I was paralyzed with shock. He turned to look at me as he was about to close the door, the same smile on his face. He popped in a cancer, lit it, winked, and left. Smile intact. I clawed at my skin.   
He hadn’t said a single word the whole time.


	3. Chapter 3

I stayed in bed all day the next day, terrified of every sound and every time the phone rang. I was too ashamed and foolish to call the police, or anyone for that matter. They would think I was just crying rape. I had let him walk me home and invited him in. It was my fault anyway. Besides, I had had an orgasm. Why? Does that mean I really wanted it?   
I got into the shower, but not before checking the locks on the door and windows. I turned on the water, and stepped in. I scrubbed all over my body savagely, making my skin turn pink and sting.   
I just stood in the hot water for a few minutes with my eyes closed. Suddenly, I saw his smile so clearly, it was as if he had come into the shower with me. My eyes shot open, and I looked around frantically. He isn’t here, of course. I thought. I started crying nonetheless.  
I scrubbed even harder as I cried. When I opened my eyes, I saw that I had brought tiny droplets of blood with the force of the poof on my forearm. I stopped crying. My breathing steadied. I looked at the blood. I reached out and touched it. I smeared the blood all the way up to my wrist. I looked at my hand; it looked as if I was a kindergartner with a fancy for the red-colored finger paint. I felt warm all over. I felt better. I felt in control.  
I took my razor and popped off the plastic that was a shield from the metal edges of the three razors. I took the naked razor and caressed it across my arm. The pain was sharp and I had a feeling of losing control, in a still being in control sort of way. Maybe losing control of myself, because before I knew it I awoke from a trancelike state. The tub was stained pink and the drain was a deep red. The tub was clogged. I took my shampoo and rubbed it all over the cuts, bringing new pain and new blood. It felt so good.   
Then as if awoken from a dream, I got out of the shower, unconsciously dressed my wounds, and put on my pajamas. I checked the shower drain for what was clogging it. I found the usual hair, along with the piece of plastic from the razor and tiny slices of my flesh. I cleaned out the screen over the drain as if it were nothing.   
I looked at the clock; I had been in the shower for almost two hours. When I got out, the sun had gone down. I got dressed and heated up some Chinese leftovers. I was eating on my kitchen floor when I heard the phone ring. My heart stopped. He would’ve called already. He probably won’t ever see me again. I answered the phone hesitantly nonetheless, “H-hello?”  
“Hello, Anne.”  
I lost my voice. It was Art.   
“Anne?” He asked amusedly.  
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t have if I wanted to.   
“I just wanted to see how you were doing. Did you enjoy last night as much as I did? I think you did.” There was a smile in his voice. That smile. That damn smile. Anger burst in my stomach.  
“You asshole! Don’t ever see me or call me again.”   
“Anne!” He said, sounding genuinely surprised, “What’s all this about?”  
I was shocked. “Art, do you remember last night? How you violently attacked me and, and... raped me?”   
“What? Now I know it was rough, but Anne, really…”  
“Arthur Nyx,” I said, trying to sound as calm as possible, "We did not have consensual sex last night. You just threw me on the floor and took me.”   
I heard him laugh a little, “Oh, Anne, so naughty. I’ll see you later, darling, ok?”  
Darling?   
“No! Stay the fuck away from me!”   
“Goodbye, Anne.” He said with that damn smile in his voice.   
I slammed down the phone. I stared at it, paralyzed for a few seconds. Then I cried out in anger. Did he think this was some sort of a game we were playing?   
I went to bed with my kitchen butcher knife clutched in my hands.


	4. Chapter 4

I didn’t leave the house for days. Thank goodness I’m a freelance writer who gets paid as I go. I loved the easy deadlines, no nagging calls, and no people. It was all basically electronic communication.   
I didn't have any family left. After my parents had died, they had left me a considerable sum of money. It was plenty to live off of and to pay off my house. It was a good sized house in the outskirts of the city, with quaint shops like the Sneety Room within walking distance.   
I don’t think I can ever go back to my old haunt, the Sneety Room, again. Well, at least not without protection. Why was he there? How did he know I frequent there? Well, he does know where I live. Maybe it was dumb luck, chance. Well, luck for him.   
I felt disgust in the pit of my stomach. The police would never believe me because I had had willing sex with him just about a week ago. They would think I was some bitter woman who just was upset I didn’t get a call the next day, roses, or something. Not to mention the cuts, I thought in the back of my mind, as if it wasn’t even me thinking it. They wouldn’t believe a woman who filleted her own arm. They’d just lock you up in a mental hospital forever.   
I’ve seen it all before on Lifetime and in the news. Besides, he didn’t beat me up or anything. There is no physical evidence left. The fucker was even clever enough to quickly put on a condom. Thank goodness for small favors.  
I’d stab myself in the abdomen if I knew I was carrying his spawn. It would come out looking like a mutant rat, no doubt. With fur and pointed ears and nose with protruding buck teeth fangs, its birth cries a horrible unearthly squeal.   
I shuddered and snuggled closer in my down comforter and fell asleep into troubled dreams. 

“You like it, Anne, don’t lie.” Art said as he raped me once again.  
I have no clue how he got in. He was just here all of a sudden. I felt horrible pain suddenly. I looked down, and his manhood seemed like it was cutting me. There was blood everywhere. I was horrified to see that his penis had turned into a razor.   
“You love it, you love it.” He said as he wore his signature smile.   
“You LOVE it.”  
“You LOVE it.”  
“You LOVE it.”  
“You…”   
I woke up in a pool of sweat. I was relieved, but only for a second. In my dream, when Art had said the word, ‘love’, it sounded like a high pitched ringing. I now knew why. It was the doorbell. I let out a small moan of despair and fear. My heart was pumping so hard I could barely see straight. I was so panicky. I knew that it was Art behind that door, and he would hurt me again.   
The doorbell stopped, and pounding on the door began.   
“Anne, let me in!” He said cheerfully.  
“Anne!” He said with a

smile

triumphant voice.  
I hid under my comforter and cried like a small child.   
‘Goawaygoawaygoaway’ I thought frantically.   
After a while, the banging stopped. I heard the wind moaning around the house.   
I didn’t know how long it was before I got up. Maybe a half an hour?   
I got up and slowly walked to the front door. The wood floor was cold on my bare feet. I shivered, but not entirely because of the cold. I heard a crash. My heart stopped. I let out a scream, but quickly stifled it with my hand. One of my books on the bookshelf had just slid over. I was relieved. I laughed as I slid into my oversized leather armchair. I put my hand to my face.   
“Fuck me!” I said breathily, with relief.   
“My, my, Anne. Again?”   
My heart went into overdrive. I couldn’t breathe. Art was standing in front of me.  
“What…how..?” The words escaped my lips without me even realizing it.  
Art held up my spare key I keep inside of a fake rock next to my steps. He threw the key over his shoulder and strode towards me.   
“No…” I squirmed back and attempted to jump over the back of the chair. He smiled and laughed. He grabbed me by my hair back towards him and then took me by my arms into my bedroom.   
“No!” I screamed.  
Art laughed and tossed me on the bed. I tried to grab the lamp, but he quickly pinned my wrists above my head and straddled me to keep me restrained.   
My whole body shook. Art didn’t seem fazed. He noticed the bandages on my arm.   
“What happened, Anne?” He actually looked concerned.  
He gingerly removed the bandages and uncovered the cuts. He looked at them, his eyes widened. He gasped. He looked at me, then the cuts, then me.  
“Anne,” He said sadly, “What’s all this?”   
I was horrified at what he did next. He brought my arm up to his face and licked my cuts with one long, wet lick. It stung and I cried out.   
“Art!”   
He looked up. “I knew you’d be screaming my name.”  
“You're crazy!” I screamed.  
“What’s the matter, Anne? Don’t you want another orgasm?” He said.  
I stopped struggling and looked up at him with shock. How did he know? He came close to my face.  
He whispered gently, "Its okay, Anne.”   
He stroked my hair and my face. He kissed me lightly as rested his forehead against mine. He gently and lovingly caressed my face.  
“Don’t be ashamed of your pleasure, Anne.”   
He got up and lay next to me. Then, he lit a cigarette and just lied there holding my hand. Dried tears were irritating my skin. He was still smiling. He gently lifted my arm and kissed my cuts.  
Art got up, kissed the top of my head and said, “Goodbye Anne darling,” and left. At least he didn’t rape me this time. Just humiliated me; raping me of my sense of security. 

I had changed the locks the very next day. I was on the phone with Brink’s Security Systems. They said they could install a system for me tomorrow at the very earliest.   
“But it’s only 11 AM right now! Can’t you send someone? I’ll pay extra. Please, I just need-”  
“Listen lady, I wish I could help ya, but there’s nothing we can do. We’re booked solid until tomorrow around 4:30. But just be home from 11 AM ‘til 9 PM just in case.”   
I sighed, “Ok. Tomorrow.”  
“And your name, address and telephone number, miss?”   
“Anne Medwin. M-E-D-W-I-N. 333 Cemetery Drive, yes it’s in the outskirts of the city. 582-4438. Thanks. Ok. Bye.” 

That night I fell into a restless sleep with no dreams. I found myself dreading the coming of the security system installation men. My mind was racing with horrid thoughts of the security men ganging up on me and hurting me. As soon as I woke up, I called them and cancelled the installation. I couldn't stand the idea of willingly letting strange men into my house where I would be so vulnerable.   
This needs to end. I have to stop it at its source: Art. I know Art; maybe I could reason with him, get him to leave me alone. If I just knew what he wanted, maybe I could get him to stop this.   
I picked up the phone and dialed his number. It rang a few times and the whole time I was in such a state of anxiety. I was shaking, sweating, and my heart felt like it was beating so hard that it might burst.   
Then, after the third ring, Art answered with a calm, almost bored,   
"Hello?"  
My voice caught in my throat. Suddenly, in the back of my mind, I felt a twinge of exhilaration.   
"H-Hi, Art. It's me, A-"  
"AnnFe?" He asked excitedly.   
"Yeah, hi."  
"Hello, Anne! How are you? I was hoping you would call me."  
"Um, Art, I was wondering if you would like to, uh, come over. I want to talk to you."   
"Sure, sure, Anne. I'll be right there." He answered, sounding elated.  
"Ok."  
"Bye, Anne."  
"Bye"  
There was silence.   
"I love you," he said and hung up.  
Huh?   
I got ready for him to come over. I put my folding knife in my pocket as I watched for Art's car.   
He pulled up in his custom Ferrari.   
The doorbell rang soon after. Fear stung in my hands and feet. It felt like vertigo, but worse. The back of my throat felt tingly and stung slightly; it tasted like metal. My hand shook as I went to open the door. The knob was only slightly turned when Art pushed his way in. I backed up, I was sure a look of fear was plastered on my face. Art smiled that smile. He was carrying a bouquet of daisies. He softly closed the door and gave me the flowers along with a kiss on the cheek.  
"I've missed you," He said  
I smiled politely.  
"Would you like to come to my place? I want to show you something." He said, almost mechanically- like with no feeling; or trying to hide something obvious.   
I walked right into the lion's den and said, "Sure.".   
Art grabbed my wrist and we hurried out to his Ferrari, which was still running. Art opened the door for me and everything but pushed me in. Art smiled the entire ride over to his house, even if it was just a smirk.  
Quickly we were at Art's big house. It surely showed how successful his career had been. He helped me out of the car and up the stairs to his house. He was shaking with excitement. He hurried us into his house and closed the door behind us quickly and locked it. He turned around with that I'm going to get you smile on his face.   
He grabbed my hand quickly yet gently. He pulled me close to him and held me tightly and tenderly. He looked into my eyes with fascination, like he was studying my face as if it were crucial that he remembered every detail.   
Then slowly, with his eyes open like a boy getting his first kiss, yet with adult passion and wanting behind it, he kissed me gently as if I might break easily. I was frightened. He was acting oddly. Where was his insistence? His violence? His need?   
I pulled back, and to my surprise he let me go. He had a gentle expression. His face looked like he had just asked me a question and was waiting for a reply. For an instant, my heart fluttered, like a school girl’s might upon seeing her crush. It left as quickly as it came.   
(The kiss was the most sincere, gentle one I’ve ever had.)  
“So, Art, what was it that you wanted to show me?” I asked nervously.   
He had a quizzical look on his face. His brow was wrinkled with confusion.   
Then he abruptly smiled and said, “Oh, right. Come.”   
He took my hand and we walked side by side up a huge black marble staircase with a red carpet runner. We then walked down the hallway; it was growing darker outside and the hallway was very dim. Then I saw something glittering from the light pouring in from the magnificent window opposite of the stairs. I squinted; I wanted to see what it was. As we neared it, Art looked at me and saw that I was intently staring at the glittering object. He smiled that smile.   
It was on a table on the side of the hallway. It was placed upon a bust’s upraised fingers. The bust looked like it was praising god like some church-goers do; raising their arms in the air with joy.   
We stopped at the table and Art smiled broadly as he saw me starting fixedly at the gorgeous ring. The stone was very large. It was black, but not onyx. It looked like the darkest black glass. It was barely see-through, it was so dark. Yet as the sun shone on it, it was pure with no imperfections inside of the massive rock. On the outside were smaller, similar rocks, except they were clear and glittered rainbow with the sun shining on it. The band was silver looking metal.  
“Do you like it?” Art asked, putting his arms around my waist and plucking the ring from the marble finger.  
“It’s gorgeous,” I said, spellbound.   
He placed the jewel on my ring finger of my left hand and rested his head on my shoulder, his arms about my waist.   
“A black diamond,” he whispered; his voice deep and sultry, “The strongest diamond. Like you. So strong,” he breathed on my ear and neck, I got a chill. He raised my hand and moved my finger so the diamond would sparkle with the setting sun’s light.   
“And white diamonds, the purest they come. And a solid platinum band.”  
In the back of my mind, I thought to refuse it and tell him that I couldn’t possibly accept such an expensive piece. Yet I was overcome with its beauty (and price), and just sighed an enamored sigh and continued my loving glance at the ring. Unconsciously, a smile came to my face.   
“Is this what you wanted to show me?” I said.  
He was silent and I felt his jaw move against my shoulder.   
“Uh, yes.” He said a little too quickly. I was getting very suspicious. He was beginning to act a little peculiar again. He slowly dropped his hands from my waist down. He felt along my thighs and my ass. I tried so hard to resist the feeling I was having, but it was no use. I’ve never been very good at resisting him. I closed my eyes. He started to whisper to me about how much he loved me and wanted to take care of me for the rest of our lives. All I could think about was that in spite of everything, I desired him right now, even if it was just a desire for security. The voice of protest in the back of my mind was growing weaker and quieter by the second.   
His hands went back to the front of my thighs and lingered there for a while as he put his hands in my front pockets. He hastily removed one hand and just as quickly replaced it. He suddenly stopped and took my hand. His trademark smirk was fixed on his face.   
He pulled away from me and said, “Oh, but I do have something else to show you.” He said.   
I followed him down the hall. There was a very small door. It was a little over five feet tall and only about two feet wide. It was off aside in the shadows. The tiny door was a decorative door. It looked like German inspired artistry. It had pine cones and spirals. It had trees, pines, and various designs.   
It had a bronze doorknob. I was confused, but my guard was down because of the ring. I was so enamored of it.   
“What is this?” I asked with a little laugh.  
“This,” he said, putting his hand on the doorknob, “is a very special room. It’s full of gorgeous things. It’s almost perfect. Almost…” He trailed off. He looked very excited.   
He opened the door and thrust me in. I heard him snicker excitedly. He was rubbing his hands together frantically.   
“There!” He said, shaking, “perfect!”  
His eyes welled and glittered with tears. I made towards the door and he slammed it in my face. I tried the knob, but he had already locked it. I heard his mumbling to himself. Things like, “Yes, yes, perfect!” “Complete, yes!” “Anne, Anne, ANNE!”  
I pounded on the door, but I didn’t hear Art anymore. It was useless. I reached in my front pocket for my knife. It was gone! Art must’ve taken it when he was feeling on my legs when he gave me the ring.  
I turned around to view my cell.   
It had no windows. There were several lights flat against the ceiling- which was about fifteen feet high. I would say the room was about twenty feet long by fifteen feet wide. Some of the lights on the ceiling were red. The walls were black and so was the carpet. It had a full sized bed which had a red silk comforter and pillows with black sheets.  
The room was also home to several…artifacts. There were pictures of me everywhere. In my house, on the street, at The Sneety Room, the mall, doctors office…etc. Prickles of fear rose in my throat. In a glass box on a table, there was a pair of my underwear. From the time he raped me, I guess. Suddenly, it all seemed so long ago, even though it had only been a few weeks before.  
There were several collections of my stories on a bookshelf, along with his stories. Some were just transcripts that hadn’t been published to my knowledge. I picked up one. It read on the title page:  
“ANNE: GODDESS THOU ART”

I flipped through it. It was a violently erotic story starring Art and I. I blushed and replaced it. In a similar glass case like the one that held my underwear, there was a horrid, disgusting thing. Flesh colored and dried out, flaking and soiled, a used condom. It had a date on a piece of paper in front of it. It was the date of the one time I had had sex with him willingly. I was horrified, and even cried out a little in disgust at the putrid object.   
I backed up and hit something. I turned around. It was my favorite chair from The Sneety Room. I could see the stain from where Art had grabbed me and made me spill my coffee.  
There was a television across from the chair. On top of it was a plain DVD case with a DVD in it. It had a simple label: a date. The same date that had been on the condom. My heart pounded with fear and fury. I slid it into the built-in DVD player.  
“Say it, Anne.”  
“Never.”  
“Say it.”  
Playful words.   
I immediately hit the TV and turned it off. I couldn’t believe it. He had taped us that day! I felt humiliated. I was locked in here by an obsessive man with some serious issues.  
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the ring glittering in the artificial light. My heart lightened.  
‘Well,’ I thought, ‘At least I have a very expensive ring. If I get out of this, I’ll have something. Something Art did for me.’  
I smiled and studied my ring for a good hour. Any lingering anger or hate for Art gone. At least for the moment. 

It was a few days after Art had initially brought me here to this little room. I had a bathroom to use. He gave me food and ate with me. He was silent and nervous. He shook and laughed a little to himself.   
I tried to get on his good side, so he would trust me. I didn’t try to escape. He carried with him a 9mm handgun tucked into his pants.   
He didn’t speak to me much these first few days. At night sometimes I would hear him walk up to the door, muttering to himself. I would hear slow, rhythmic scratching at the door. It sounded like he was just clawing at the door for minutes on end, wanting desperately to come in, yet not allowing himself.   
There was a large mirror in the room. Sometimes I thought I heard sound coming from it.   
‘There just must be a room behind this wall,’ I thought.   
Just then, Art came in. He strode up to me and backed me against the wall. He put his arms on either side of me and came close to my face. He went to kiss me and I backed away.  
"Anne, I just want to show you how much I love you."  
"That's ok, Art. I think I get the idea."  
He laughed shortly and moved in to kiss me. I turned my head. He must have taken that as an invitation and kissed my neck. He bit my neck, giving me chills.   
"Stop it." I said, attempting to push him.  
He frowned and said, "Don't push me away. I need to show you what you do to me." He grabbed my wrists and led me to the bed.  
"Just let me make love to you, Anne. You'll feel better."  
"I feel fine," I groaned.  
He smirked and said, "Oh but you'll feel so much better once I'm done with you."  
He pulled my shirt over my head and unfastened my bra. He threw them to the side along with his own shirt. He lowered his head to my chest and kissed and nuzzled my breasts.   
"Take off the rest," He breathed, removing his own pants.  
"No, Art. That's enough!"   
He grabbed my wrists again and pinned me to the bed.   
"No. It's not. I'll tell you when it's enough." He snarled and then yanked off the rest of my clothes.   
"You'll let me love you, damn it, even if I have to force you." He whispered next to my ear and entered me forcefully.  
I groaned, "Art..."   
He moaned and started pounding into me easily.   
"I don't know why you act like you don't want it," He gasped, "God, you're so wet."  
It was true, but I shook my head in shame, avoiding a kiss. He grabbed my face and forced his lips onto me, thrashing his tongue in my mouth, mimicking the onslaught that was happening below.   
He started thrusting harder, and breathed in gasps. He groaned as he released in me. I could feel it leaking out of me. I shivered as he slowly removed himself. He laid beside me, sweaty and panting, with his arm around me. He napped for a bit and then left me with a parting kiss on the forehead.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Art came to visit me. He had brought me my favorite coffee from the Sneety Room. I was sipping it in my favorite Sneety Room chair.   
He sat, staring at me in awe, like I was the rarest bird in the world that must be studied. I finished and he picked up the cup and held it, caressed it, rather, and smelled it every now and then.   
I was nervous. My hands were so sweaty. I was shaking. Art got up and headed towards the door. I got up slowly and stealthily. He opened the door. I ran at him and pushed him.   
We both fell to the floor of the hallway. I hurt my wrist. I scrambled up to run, stepping on Art. He grabbed my ankle, causing me to fall down. He got up, and dragged me by my ankle back into the room. I kicked his hand and he yelped and pulled it away. I made towards the door. He tackled me and he was crouching on me on the floor.   
He crouched on top of me and had the 9mm to my neck. I winced and looked pleadingly at him. His face showed anger and Annoyance. It was like I was some slave of his who had had the audacity to try to run away. I whimpered, the cold gun metal burning my flesh.   
He put the gun in his pants waist and helped me up. He sat in my chair from the Sneety Room.   
“After all I’ve done for you,” Art said. “I want the best for you and the best for you is with me. What?” he was shaking and spitting as he spoke, “Are my gifts not good enough??”   
He snatched up my hand with the ring on it and thrust it aside. He gestured towards the broken coffee mug near the doorway.  
“I even went so far as to get you your very favorite seat from the Sneety Room.”   
I felt a twang of guilt. I was ashamed. Like a small child who has been scolded. I cast my eyes down.  
We sat there for a moment in silence, staring into each other's eyes.  
“But its ok, Anne,” He rested his forehead on mine, “I forgive you.”   
He closed his eyes and held me. I held him, back, relieved. I felt this pressure in my heart- this surge of a feeling akin to panic.   
He kissed me and stroked my hair. I kissed him back, hoping to calm him down. I even poked my tongue into his mouth a bit.  
He pulled away and left, leaving me with one of his signature smiles, and a strange feeling that I would have liked to kiss him just a little longer. 

After that, I didn't try to escape again. He might get too angry one day and actually shoot me. I decided I'd better do what he says. But he is so easily agitated these days, I feel like anything could set him off. So I decided to try to act as docile as possible to save myself from his gun.   
He came into the room when I was napping. He woke me up and told me to go sit in the armchair. I quickly obeyed. He began to tie my hands together. I held them out for him, so he could tie easier. He seemed suspicious, but didn't say anything. He then tied my feet together. I guess he didn't want to me to try to run away from him, even as I was locked in my cell. He pulled up another chair and then put a movie in the DVD player on top of the TV across from us.   
"We're going to enjoy some peaceful time together, Anne. We're going to watch one of your favorite movies and just enjoy each other's company. Ok?"   
I nodded eagerly as he sat down next to me. He put his arm around me.   
"Don't ruin this like you did last time," he spat.  
"No," I quickly said, "Th-thank you, Art." I managed a smile and his frown smoothed out.   
"Of course, Anne. Good to see some cooperation."   
During the movie, I began to relax and try to envelop myself in the story to try to escape the horror of my reality. I began to laugh freely and emote to the movie as a normal person would. A suicide scene in the movie seemed to upset Art. His facial expression was pained and he gripped my shoulder.   
"Are you ok?" I asked.   
"Yeah, it's just... my grandfather killed himself, and I was pretty close to him."   
"Oh. I'm sorry, Art. I know how hard that can be. My best friend in high school killed herself, too."   
He looked at me fidgeting my wrists.   
"I tied that too tightly," He said as he untied my hands. He did not retie them.   
"Your grandfather is at peace now. I'm sure he was doing what he thought was best for you and your family." I said, moving my now free hand towards his to hold. He smiled at me and we continued to watch the movie holding hands.   
After our positive evening together, Art seemed to be a bit more comfortable with me. He began to tell me a little about his past, like how he was made fun of in school. I told him that I was as well. We soothed each other with funny anecdotes about what we "should have done" to the perpetrators. It seemed I had a lot more in common with Arthur Nyx than just our profession. I came to realize he was most likely just lonely and grasping onto what made him feel whole, happy, and normal: me. Is that enough to justify everything that he's done? No, but I can't help but feel sorry for him, and relate to him in some sort of small way. 

Art came into my room that night. I was lying on my back on the bed. He sat at the arm chair. I looked up at him. He was wearing black trousers and a black button-up shirt with sexy badass boots. He looked great. I flipped on my stomach to face him and stared at him. He was watching me with an expression of desire. He smirked at me and grazed the side of his bottom lip with his teeth. It was a very sexy look. He ran his hands down his thighs, and as I followed with my eyes, I noticed he was erect. I shivered. I got up and walked towards him. He smirked wider as I came closer to him. I stood in front of him and slowly lowered myself onto his lap. I put my arms around his neck and slowly began to kiss him. I was wearing just underwear and a t shirt, and I could feel his package throb just under me. I rubbed against him in response. He unzipped his pants and pulled himself out. It was hot as it bumped against me. I moved forward and licked his bottom lip before kissing him. His kiss was in perfect time with mine. It was like he knew what I was going to do. I sighed. My groin felt heavy with desire. I reached down and moved my drenched panties to the side and started to push myself on top of him. The tip entered me and I groaned with the sensation and heard Art hiss as he inhaled. He grabbed my butt and would not allow me to push down on him further. I whimpered in protest and began to try to ride him as best as I could. I looked at his face, his smirk ever-present. It widened at the pleading look on my face and my groans.   
"If you stay silent, I'll give you what you want." He whispered in my ear, giving me a chill. I unconsciously groaned with this hot statement and tried to lower myself onto him.   
He roughly held me still with his hands and hissed, "Ah, ah. Be a good girl," he put a hand over my mouth and shushed me. I felt dizzy with need and desire. He removed his hand from my mouth and without warning, roughly pulled me down over his entire length. My eyes rolled back in my head and I couldn't help it. I cried out loudly with the glorious sensation of fulfillment. At this, he pulled me off of him and pushed me to the floor. I whined, feeling desperately empty and needing to be filled. He straddled me and said, "Bad girl. I'll have to punish you." He then entered me roughly, pounding into me. My eyes watering with pleasure, I moaned and met him with each thrust. His pelvic bone rubbed against my clit, building my pleasure. I buried my head into chest as I came, crying out and holding onto him and pressing him into me further. He finished shortly thereafter and lied next to me with a smirk.   
"I think you've earned an unlocked door, if you keep that up." 

 

He had let me out of the room to accompany him to the library on the third floor to sit with him by the fire.   
My urge to leave grew less and less every day. I was getting to know Art Nyx. He is such a complicated genius. He knows what is best for me.  
He has let me sleep with him in his bed. I was overjoyed. I could vaguely remember the day so long ago when we had first made love. I feel so foolish when I remember when he first brought me here, to and I had shown him my gratitude by trying to escape. I still blush with deep embarrassment at the memory. It didn’t even seem like me. That couldn’t have been me- that wild, untamed hellion.   
I was upset though. As of late Art had begun to act oddly. Like something bigger and better and more important was on his mind. I saw him carrying around the 9mm, studying it. It made me uneasy, but I’m sure whatever it is, it is perfectly fine.

He seems more at ease with my new willingness to cooperate. At first he was suspicious, but now I think he is at ease.   
Oh how I love my wonderful, wonderful ring. 

Art had been tracked down, so to speak, by his agent. He had called her, but would cancel signings or meetings. She accused him of being a recluse. He never wanted to leave home anymore. And it was true. I didn’t think he wanted to leave me alone in this big house. My love is so thoughtful.  
He seems stressed, on edge lately. He carries His 9mm wherever he goes. Even when we make love, the gun is on the nightstand, at the ready. It is always loaded. I know because I see him clean it and look at the ammunition. I know live rounds when I see them. I’m not worried for my sake, I just hope he doesn’t mean to use that on anyone else or worse, on his self. I didn’t want to ask about it. It’s none of my business, I suppose.  
I feel foolish and childish for worrying- I’m sure he has a plan, but it haunts me like those noises that follow my every step. I hear it all the time- creaks and moans. I think someone is hiding in Art’s mansion. Wanting something. Wanting my ring! I protect it with all of me. It is precious to me. I think I’ll tell Art about them. 

Art and I were in the library, sitting by the fire. I decided to tell him. I turned my head and looked to him.  
“Art, my love?”  
He smiled at me and said, “Yeah?”  
I moved closer to him.   
“I think you should know…I think…I mean, I’ve been hearing people-”  
“What?” He said looking disgusted.   
“People. I think they’re in your house. I hear them when I’m alone, scratching about. They want my ring.”   
I held my hand with the ring. Art looked confused and freaked out.   
“Here, Anne,” He poured me a glass of brandy, “Just drink this.”  
I obeyed and he kept filling my glass. I felt on air and free. My love for him seemed to explode from my chest.  
“I love you Art…” I said, falling onto him, draping my arms around him.  
He smiled and put a finger to my lips and said, “Shhh….just sleep.”   
I closed my heavy lids and went to sleep with a vision of my ring in my head. I smiled with the last of my consciousness.

I woke up in my room, it was about 4 AM. I listened for the people. Nothing. Good. I clenched my fist tight to feel my ring stab into my skin. I smiled and giggled a little. There was a bottle of water and some pills next to my bed. There was also a note:

“Anne-  
Take these and drink all of the water.   
There is no one in this house except  
you and me. Put it out of your mind.  
I love you.  
Art.” 

I took the pills and drank some of the water. Ok. If Art says to keep it out of my mind, I will. I felt groggy all of a sudden and fell unconscious as soon as I hit the pillow.

I awoke in Art’s bed. It was noon. He was lying next to me, smoking a cig. I frowned but I didn’t dare say anything to him about it. I haven’t in a while. I just worry for his health.   
I stretched and hugged his shoulders.   
“Babe-” He said, annoyed, and pushed me away, “I don’t want to burn you with my cig.”   
“I’m sorry Art.”  
I felt foolish. I was in my night gown and only wondered for a minute how I had changed clothes. I unconsciously went to touch my ring. It wasn’t there. My heart stopped. I gasped. The world seemed to fuzz and roar.   
“Art!” I gasped; I grabbed his shoulder frantically, “My ring!”   
Tears stung my eyes. He looked at me and as though he was looking at a wild animal.   
“Relax,” He held my hand, “I just put it in your room, in a case.”  
I was relieved. But I wanted to see it.  
“I want to go see it.” I said.  
He laughed and put his arm around me, forcing me back.   
“It’s not going anywhere, darling,” He kissed my forehead and snuffed out his cig, “And neither are you. I’ll get your mind off of it…” He said with that smirk of his and climbed on top of me.  
I eagerly kissed him, knowing that afterwards, he would forget and just let me go back to my room if I wanted to.

We lay together. He held me and stroked my hair. He would kiss me and whisper softly that he loved me. I couldn’t stop thinking about the ring. I hoped he would go to sleep soon, it was around 7 PM now, and we had been busy all day.   
We both fell asleep. I awoke and crept into my room I stared at my ring until I fell asleep again.

I awoke with a piercing ringing sound and Art screaming my name and bursting in my room. I smelled smoke. His face was plastered with fear. His face was smudged with black. Sweat on his face glistened in the light of the early morning coming through the window.   
“Anne!” He grabbed me, “The house! Fire!”   
He yanked me out of the room. I saw flames licking the walls. I screamed. We ran down the steps that were starting to blaze. Half of the second floor was on fire.   
We ran out of the door and onto the front lawn, where Art dialed 911 with his cell that I’ve never seen before. His 9mm was gone.   
“How?” I asked when he was off of the phone.  
“I woke up to find you gone; I smoked a cig and fell asleep with it in my hand. I woke up and the room was on fire.”  
I noticed blood on His pants. He was badly burned.   
“Why were you gone, Anne?” He asked, not angrily.   
“To see my ring.”   
My heart stopped.  
“MY RING!”   
I ran towards the burning house.   
“No, Anne, NO!” Art screamed after me.   
He ran towards me. I went through the fiery door. Not caring even it was the very portal to hell, just to save my ring. Art made to follow me, but the walls collapsed and caved in.   
“Anne, NO!”   
I heard him sobbing and screaming, but I was running up the flaming stairs with persistence.   
‘My ring. My ring.’ flooded my thoughts. I came to my room. I ran though a blazing door frame into it. I saw my ring. I broke the glass with my bare hand. I didn’t feel it even as the glass sliced my flesh. I held my ring.   
“My ring! Oh my love!” I cried with joy.  
I heard a rumbling sound. I went immediately to protect my ring with my hand. The blazing roof caved in.


	6. Chapter 6

Art was on the ground, sobbing. Cursing the firemen for not arriving a second sooner, before the whole mansion seemed to melt before his eyes. His love forever entombed within it.   
The firemen shook their heads. It would take a few days to go through the wreckage of the house to find the body. Anne was “the body” now. As she always had been to Art. He held his 9mm that he had retrieved from his Ferrari. He left it there when he went out to clean the car the day before. It looked more useful than ever.  
Art ignored the police and firemen and all of the other fuzz types. He didn’t want to deal with this. He didn’t want to accept it. It couldn’t be real.   
He spent the next two days binge drinking and smoking. He went to Anne's house and took items and slept and wept on her bed.   
He started doing coke again, but nothing could numb the agony. Nothing? Well…that’s not correct.   
He went to the wreckage of his mansion. He remembered the first day he had brought Anne here. How they had made love and how she was so impressed by the house. Every thought of Anne was like another spike being savagely beaten into his heart.   
He wailed out load and moaned. It was very early in the morning, so no one was around to hear him anyway, even if he had neighbors, which he didn’t.   
He fell to the ground and wept. He went through the wreckage savagely. He ignored the nails biting his flesh and the wood lacerating him. Then he saw her charred remains. The ring on her hand was scorched; it looked as though it blended in with her body. He moaned and screamed. He could barely breathe. He fell to his knees.  
“Anne, my darling, my love…” he moaned in between wails, “I love you I love you I love you…”   
The world danced and spun in a violent carousel. He felt sick and like someone was suffocating him. He screamed.   
He reached in his pants and got his 9mm. He looked at it and caressed it. He put the gun to his right temple. He whispered, “Anne,” fired, and fell next to the body of Anne Edwin. 

Here lies Arthur Nyx and Anne Medwin.   
Love changed and minds erased.   
Love not the idea, love not the chase.   
Possessions are many, true lovers are few.  
Darling insanity.  
At least I felt it. Even with you.


End file.
